I Appreciate You
by darthsydious
Summary: It's Molly Hooper Appreciation Week! (or am I too late!) But Sherlock and Co. really do appreciate the long-suffering pathologist. Warstan, Sherlolly.


" _To The Best Pathologist In the Biz! – Cheers you to! - Greg"_

Molly looked at the neatly written note and then at the colorful bouquet of daisies.

"They're beautiful!" she said, having dialed up Greg immediately. She could practically hear the DI shrug, chuffed that she was pleased. "But what have I done to deserve such a lovely surprise?"

"Nah, you put up with a lot from us at the Yard, and you're almost always the one on call, your name gets tossed around on paperwork, almost as much as Sherlock's. We appreciate that," Greg answered. "I know I do. There's a coffee card from Sally stuffed somewhere in the bouquet,"

Molly fished carefully through the stems until she found it. "Aw! Thanks Sally!" she yelled over the phone, and she could hear Sally shout her response. After a few more moments of small-talk and about eight more thank-you's, Molly hung up, already feeling her day brightening.

That afternoon, Mary surprised her with lunch from their favorite Indian restaurant.

"Oh I was just wondering what to get from the machine, this is so much nicer!" Molly dug into the dish, mouth watering as Mary unwrapped the foil package of freshly baked naan.

"I thought you could do with a change, anyway it's a just little thank you for babysitting last minute the other day, _and_ on your day off."

"It wasn't anything, honestly, I was glad to, and Charlotte is so good-" Molly began, but Mary was already waving her fork.

"Oh come on, you do it all the time for us, we've become rotten friends, John and I, we always ring you up if Sherlock can't watch her. You've been especially good to not bring it up either. John said to tell you that we're having a dinner at ours, and you had best come and wear something nice, we're all dressing up in grown-up clothes and being very fussy because we deserve it, but you especially do."

"Who will watch Charlotte?" Molly objected, already planning to stay in and babysit, despite the tempting offer of getting all dressed up (and the opportunity to wear her brand new shoes she really had no business buying).

"Sherlock's parents are in town, and they are dying to have a night with her, so don't you dare even think of saying what I know you were about to," Mary pointed her fork at her. "Friday night, at ours, get all dressed up, treat yourself to a salon day, I am, and we'll have insipid cocktails and see if we can't get Sherlock drunk." Molly laughed, agreeing to come. That was two lovely surprises!

The next day, as she was browsing Herrods,trying on a dark green silk cocktail dress, wondering if she dared when a store clerk stepped up to her.

"Would you like me to wrap it for you?"

"Oh!" Color bloomed in her cheeks. She really shouldn't even have gone into the shops. She didn't _need_ a new dress, and there was certainly no excuse to buy a three-hundred quid dress that would probably only see the light of day but once a year. "Well I- er-"

"You ought to, Miss Hooper, the color suits you, as does the style."

She turned with a look of shock to see Mycroft Holmes leaning against his umbrella, studying her with a critical eye.

"I was just being silly," Molly flustered. She turned back to look at her reflection in the mirror. "Honestly, there's-"

"A cocktail party at the Watson's, if I am not mistaken. You've nothing suitable in your closet at the moment," he stretched his hand out, extending a black credit card Molly didn't recognize to the clerk. "Charge it won't you? See to any other little baubles she might need."

Molly stared, open-mouthed as the clerk suddenly handed her off to the dressing room, helped her out of the dress and murmured something about a pair of amber earrings and gift-wrapping.

Stumbling into her clothes, Molly hurried from the dressing room, clutching her purse.

The clerk was already at the register, the manager was swiping the credit card, making a big fuss of kissing up to Mycroft. The dress already wrapped up and waiting, another clerk was carefully wrapping a jewelry box up. The bags were handed to her without a word, after which two suited guards came out of nowhere and stepped behind Molly and Mycroft, guiding them through an employee's only exit.

"Mycroft you really didn't need to do that, I'll owe you a fortune!"

"Tush, we shan't speak of this ever again, Doctor Hooper," he motioned for the guards to step back, and they obeyed. In the empty hallway, Mycroft faced Molly, tip of his umbrella tapping out a staccato rhythm against the cement floor for a few moments while Mycroft gathered his thoughts. "My brother is fond of you, ergo you are important to my people. However," at this he looked directly at her, and once again Molly was arrested by the keen eyes of the elder Holmes. His gaze was quite soft then, and Molly felt herself suddenly privileged to see the very human side of Mycroft Holmes. "You saved him, several times. You are what he needs, and give yourself willingly, you put yourself in danger, and are content to remain without notice, and expect nothing in return. A dress and earrings is hardly compensation for what you have done for my brother, I hope you do not think my appreciation to you so lackluster as some scraps of fabric and compressed stone and metal, but if they bring you any sort of pleasure, I am only too happy to assist in bringing you such joy."

Molly stared at him. After a moment, the corner of her mouth twitched up into a small smile. "You must love your brother very much."

Mycroft said nothing for a little while. "He is my family." He glanced at her, as if he wanted to say more, but then decided not to. He wanted to say: _"And so are you"_ but he did not. Instead he offered his arm and helped her into the waiting car at the end of the long hall, giving her address to his driver.

 **That Friday…**

"It's been a good week,"

"Yeah?" John lifted his eyebrows. "What made it good?"

"I dunno," Molly shrugged. "Just…little things all week, Greg sent me over this absolutely gorgeous bouquet of Gerber daisies, and Sally tossed in a coffee charge card, almost a hundred-quid on it! I'll be set for months!"

"Treated yourself to a dress too, I see," John nodded to her new frock. Indeed, everyone at the soiree had mentioned it, either in passing to Molly or to each other. The dress was very much the pathologist's style, figure-flattering, and the color suited her immensely. "That's nice too."

"Actually, oh my goodness! I hadn't even mean to get it. I forgot to say who bought-" she covered her mouth, stopping herself.

"What?" John leaned closer.

"No, I can't say, I promised I wouldn't, and he wouldn't like me to say either," Molly shook her head.

"Go on then, I won't tell," John leaned closer again. "Was it Sherlock?" he waggled his eyebrows, glancing in the direction of the consulting detective, who sat in the corner, sulking, a colorful drink in his hands.

"No, no, don't guess," Molly pleaded. "Please don't, he'll be upset if I tell, but it's someone we're all friends with…or…well…" she paused, how did one classify their relationship with Mycroft Holmes? She supposed she could call him her friend. He was always friendly to her.

"Okay, okay, I won't," John conceded. "I'll just ask Mary later, no doubt she's figured it out."

Molly laughed then. "Probably."

"Go on, what else about your week?"

"Really interesting autopsy on Wednesday, I'm actually going to write a paper on it."

"Really?!" John looked pleasantly surprised. "That'd be great, God, you haven't had a paper out in ages!"

"I know I-" she suddenly stopped. "What? You know about my other papers?"

"Yeah, course I do," he shrugged, emptied his glass then set it down, reaching for another cocktail from a passing tray. "I've been reading your papers since before Mary and I got together, when I was still living at Baker Street. I started out just reading them for research, but I ended up really enjoying your findings. You should've gotten an award by now for what you've discovered."

"I'm just stating what I find," Molly shrugged, pleased that someone was reading her work, and genuinely enjoying it. "That's good to hear at any rate, I'm so glad you read them, and not just because you're a friend."

"I always appreciate your work," John laughed. "You're a good person, Molly Hooper, too good for us. Come on," he took her empty glass. "The party is catered, the house is large, so let's get you another glass, and we'll see about putting music on for us all to dance to."

"Oh good!" Molly followed, John holding onto her hand, Mary followed close behind, linking arms.

"Is John putting on music?" Mary asked over the crowd.

"Yes!"

"First dance, first dance!" Mary crowed. Bundled between the Watson's, Molly couldn't help but laugh, realizing she'd dearly missed spending time with her friends, that she loved them both very much, and it was good to have one's company desired.

 **Later that night…**

Sherlock offered to share a cab with her, and helped her upstairs when her heels proved slippery with the ice underfoot on the walkway.

"Stay for a cuppa?" Molly asked, stepping out of her shoes, an act that made Sherlock pause and study with some fascination (he wasn't sure why watching Molly step out of her high-heel shoes and onto the rug in her stocking feet made the room suddenly feel warmer, though).

"Yes," he answered. "Don't you have work?"

"You already know, I'm sure, Mike gave me the weekend off, which was a lovely surprise."

"Did he say why?" Sherlock asked.

Molly frowned, poking her head out of her open bedroom door. "Are you genuinely interested?"

He looked up from filling the kettle. "I did ask…so…yes."

"Oh…I didn't think you did small-talk."

"Not with insipid people, no. You are hardly insipid."

She disappeared from view again; her laughter followed by the zip of her dress was heard. "Not tonight, anyway. No, Mike didn't give a reason, just said that I ought to have a weekend off, oh! And he did say he wanted me to know he appreciated all my work, taking the crummy shifts and being on call during holiday season so everyone else could have their vacations."

"I appreciate you."

Molly looked up with some surprise, more at the fact that Sherlock was standing in the doorway of her bedroom, and she was stepping into her pajama bottoms than anything else. She finished pulling on her clothes.

"I'm sorry?"

"I…appreciate you." He shifted, somewhat uneasy, and she studied him carefully.

"Thank…you?"

"I mean it," he insisted as she stepped by him. He caught her arm. "I don't say it enough and…I ought to."

She stopped where she was and faced him, realizing he was having a difficult time expressing himself. She thumbed his cheek, smiling. "Thank you, Sherlock. I know you appreciate what I do-"

"I did not say what you do," he interrupted her. "I said I appreciate _you_."

Sherlock waited for her to react. He was hoping for a smile, one of her especially beatific smiles that lit up her whole face, and she'd glow from the inside out. Instead, her face seemed to crumple, and she began to cry. "Oh!" he looked upset, reaching for her.

"No, it's nothing you've done, I promise, they're happy tears," she waved him off. "Everyone's been so nice this week, I don't mean that they're usually mean, that's not it, but everyone has been so lovely, and I don't know what I've done to deserve it," stepping past him, she grabbed a makeup wipe from the box on the bathroom counter, cleaning off her mascara before it started to run.

Sherlock looked incredulously at her. "You're joking."

She finished wiping her makeup off. "What?"

"Molly…you…" he was at a loss for words, truly! Molly was as shocked as he was. "You don't know how wonderful you are?" he murmured. "You're… _Molly_. You're everything good and just in the world-"

"Don't say that, I'm not," Molly insisted. "I just try to be a good person, same as everyone else."

"I don't try to be good," he sniffed.

"Yes you do, in your own way. So does Greg and John and Mary, and, yes, even Mycroft."

At mention of his brothers' name, Sherlock studied her, then the dress that was currently laid out on her bed. "So he did buy it for you. I thought so."

"He did," Molly nodded. "He wanted me to know that since I am important to you, I'm important to him, and…"

"He is fond of you," Sherlock cut in. "He'll never say it, but he is."

Molly laughed, sniffling once more, she wiped her nose on the cuff of her sleeve as she regarded him through watery eyes. "I like him too, and I'll tell him to his face."

Sherlock quirked a smile. "I hope you do." His expression fell somewhat as he looked at the floor, toeing the carpet. "We all are very fond of you, Molly…and none of us say it enough, but right now, I don't care about anyone else, I want you to know that I…" he paused, licking his lips, feeling his throat was dry. He stared at the carpet, willing himself to find some strength. "I appreciate you, for who you are, what you do, and what you have done for me…and…I…would like you to meet mummy and father."

He finally looked up at her, hoping she understood the scope of his statement.

Molly. Lovely, sweet as honey, fierce as a lion, Molly smiled gently at him, eyes shining. "I'd like to meet them too."

He gathered her in his arms, relishing in the feel of her hands splayed against his back, her head resting against his chest. He kissed the top of her head, then bending low, pressed another to her forehead. Tilting her head up just enough, she was able to meet his mouth this time, and they both felt the other smile.

She rested back on her heels with a sigh, head against his shoulder, quite happy in his embrace. "Do you think your parents will like me?" she asked softly, a tinge of fear in her voice.

"You're Molly Hooper," he chuckled, and she laughed, feeling the rumble in his chest. "What about you is there to dislike?"

She had no answer, for he'd again stopped her mouth with a kiss, and she decided she'd much rather he continue as he was than press him for an answer.


End file.
